


Always and Forever

by EmeraldUrAFreak



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Clara is the best, Clingy, Cuddling & Snuggling, De-aging, Developing Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, F/F, F/M, Heartbroken Sherlock Holmes, Hurt John, I love Mycroft & Greg, John is the strong one, Kid John Watson, Kid!John, Kidnapped John, M/M, Men Crying, Past Torture, Past Violence, Protective Sherlock Holmes, Rewrite, Sappy, Scared Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, So much angst, Temporary Amnesia, criminal drabble, loosly descripted, love and comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2019-08-20 08:27:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16552349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldUrAFreak/pseuds/EmeraldUrAFreak
Summary: So basically, John wakes up from serious head trauma (and other things) after being held captive and placed under experiments by Moriarty. This story takes place before the pool scene but Moriarty has captured John a little early and kept him for almost a week and was about to use him for the pool scene when Sherlock saves him. (And yes John is turned into a child hehe)~Currently Under Rewrite~





	1. Forget Me Not

 

[Coverart <3](https://www.deviantart.com/emeraldurafreak/art/8631669c-ac0b-4376-a78e-10cf669c6bac-782066289?ga_submit_new=10%3A1548048398)

 

 ~~~

 

Beep!

 

The world seems to be spinning as if in a washing machine. Round and round it goes. Slowly but surely pulling itself apart. Pulling thread by thread until it comes unraveled, taking all the information he knew with it.

 

Beep! Beep!

 

It became faster turning those slow rips into tears and holes in the fabric. Taking away meaning, thoughts and memories leaving gaping holes of information. It’s maddening yet calming it makes him feel like dying but also like flying.

 

Beeeeeeeeeep!

 

Perhaps one of those has been permitted with the sound of flatlining. Perhaps they wouldn’t bring him out of his darkness where the memories and thoughts are gone. Perhaps he would be allowed to succumb to the peace, to the sound of silence.

 

Suddenly there is sound, loud high pitched and whirring sound. Pain follows as the sound is soon identified as machines and voices. Some are shouting to each other but one the only one that seems to matter among the chaos calls a name. Surely it must be his own otherwise the owner of the voice wouldn’t shout it into his ear. “John!” It was just a name a very simple one yet he came to take it as his own. For it seemed the man shouting it, really wanted him to come back.

 

So he did just for the man who declared him John.

 

~~~

 

A shock greets John to the light and noise, with a defibrillator rising from his bare chest. A hand clutches his own and it grounds him from the onslaught of pain in this world. Time passes it seems entirely too fast and yet too slow he cant get his eyes open in time to see the world before he's gone under again. This time not so far under but just enough for peace.

 

~~~

 

The second time he wakes he can open his eyes there is still a hand holding onto his own but it is almost quiet now. It’s dark and the only sound is a simple beep in tune with his heart. He looks to the new space around him and identifies it as a hospital he figures he must be someone important being able to get such a nice room with no one in it.

 

He lets his head roll to the side to see who is holding his hand in a vice grip and finds a man with a lean frame and black curly hair sitting in a chair by his side. The man is staring out the window beside him and the way the light bounces off his face makes his pale skin look almost translucent, beautifully so. The man turns towards him when he shifted slightly and John was surprised to see how gorgeous his eyes were. They were blue and green yet had a hint of almost gold that glinted in the moonlight from the window.

 

“Sleep, John.” The man says, his voice is deep and soothing with a slightly commanding tone. His voice is smooth when he says his name unlike when he first heard it, it was harsh and afraid. Now all that was contained and left the most calming presence that John couldn’t ignore. He found himself obeying as if trained to do what the voice told him and slowly his eyes fell shut and he was asleep once more.

 

~~~

 

When he wakes again it is early- in what he assumes to be -the next day and he is in a new room with more windows and a bigger bed and more furniture. The man is still there with him now on the other side of him, today he is sitting his legs pulled up onto his chair and eyes closed, his hand is still holding John’s. A constant presence that John hopes will stay for a long time.

 

The man seems so peaceful and John suddenly wishes he knew his name. So perhaps he could add meaning to the man that gave him his own name and brought him out from the darkness. He wishes he knew him, clearly he was important to John and soon he would realise John couldn’t remember him and he wouldn't have the same hopeful look in his eyes like last night anymore. He would look sad and disappointed in John.

 

There was nothing John could do. John knew he couldn’t fool this man, he knew somehow without actually knowing him that this man could tell if he was lying or acting. He couldn't tell him or remember him so how was he supposed to keep the happy look in his eyes? He wishes he knew something of the man, just to keep him happy.

 

The man suddenly snaps his eyes open and the happiness in them rips John apart inside and suddenly he feels the need to cry. He quickly placed his feet to the floor and moves forward in his chair. The man with curly black hair and eyes John can only describe as twilight, squeezes their hands together and places his lips upon John's hand that’s on top. He lays his head against John’s hip breathing him in.

 

John feels his eyes well up as the man displays such open intimacy, they are clearly some sort of partners of which sort he does not know. What he does know is that even if he does not know him, he feels a connection to this man and does not want to harm him, though he knows anything he does will.

 

Perhaps it was pure impulse or some kind of familiarity, mixed with muscle memory that caused John to slowly placed his free hand in the mop of dark raven curls. The man practically melted into the contact as John slowly sifted through the messy locks detangling and massaging his scalp as if he had done so a hundred times. At this point John wasn’t sure if he had or not.

 

John felt tears trickle down his cheeks at the thought of simply forgetting something so important. He couldn’t bear this any longer. “I’m sorry..” John choked on his words as his throat closed up. The man lifted his head and John’s hand fell to the side lifelessly as he looked into those ever changing eyes. The man moved closer to the bed and sat up looking at John questionably as tears fell from his eyes.

 

“John, what happened wasn’t-“ The man tried to amend in his silky voice, probably in reference to whatever caused John to lose his memory. John just shook his head and placed a hand on the man's cheek as tears continued to flow.

 

“You don’t understand.” John choked again trying to get the words out, feeling as if the emotions of someone else were flooding him. Perhaps it was the part of him that could recognize this man. “I-I can’t-“ John tried to breathe but the feeling of his throat slowly closing was taking over him. “I don’t-“

 

The man moved to sit on the bed as he took both of John's hands into his own. He kissed them holding them to his lips for comfort, though it only succeeded in bringing back the ache of wishing to remember who this incredible man was. John closed his eyes as he felt tears fall from his cheeks and warm breath into his hands.

 

“I don’t know who I am.” John admitted quietly, his eyes closed shut and his body shaking. Once the words were said more just seemed to flow out with them. “I don’t know where I am or why I’m here. Worst of all, I don’t know who you are and why it hurts so much not to know that.”

 

A sob wracked John’s frame as his hand fell from the mans face. The man sat there in what seemed to be shock before gathering John in his arms and holding him to his chest murmuring comforting words into his hair. John found the smell, feel and sound of this man so enrapturing and calming he wished he knew if he had discovered these things already. If he had experienced the overwhelming amount of love pouring out of this man.

 

After an unidentifiable amount of time his tears died down and he found himself becoming increasingly tired in the arms of this man. He wanted to stay awake to learn about him and their relationship but the rumble of his voice and the soothing smell of a man he felt he knew so well, lulled him into tranquility. He felt himself dozing until the man's voice strong and confident brought him back.

 

“I’m going to speak to your nurse and get you cleared. I believe you’ll recover faster at the flat, then I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” The man promised laying John down slowly to his back, he fell practically boneless, his eyelids seeming so heavy as a kiss was placed on his forehead.

 

“Come back..” John said sluggishly, hoping his familiar constant would stay constant. John didn’t want him to leave at all the mysterious stranger with a large coat was so comforting and grounding, John was drawn to him immediately. He wondered if he was the first time they met as well.

 

“Always, John. Always.” John heard him answer from across the room before the sound of a door closing. What he didn’t see was the growing shine to the man’s eyesor the way his hands seemed to shake as he laid him down. He didn’t notice these things so his eyes slipped shut peacefully and the world went black.


	2. No Longer Home

“Come on, John. Let’s go.” John heard as someone was shaking him. He identified the voice as the man he had met when he first woke up. He had come back like he said.

“You came back..” John said as the man pushed him into a sitting position, the bandages on his arms pulling at his wounds. The man pulled his legs off the bed and grabbed his shoulders to hold him up.

“I said I would and I did. Now you need to get up and put these on so we can leave, I can’t stand this place.” The man said quickly slightly irritated motioning to a pile of clothes on the foot of the bed. He made a move to leave and John quickly grabbed the man's wrist.

“You never told me your name.” John says afraid that if he doesn’t ask he may never know. John watched as the man visibly deflated and came to crouch in front of him.

“Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes. I’m a consulting detective at Scotland Yard.” The man- Sherlock - said with a carefully blank expression, though somehow John could tell he was sad. John nods to himself as he thinks for a moment.

“Who am I?” John asks carefully and watches as Sherlock’s expression crumbles. John is taken aback at the sudden emotions of pain, longing and what he couldn’t only describe as heartbreak. “Y-you don’t have to-“ John quickly tried to amend.

“No, it’s alright.” Sherlock looked up into John’s eyes as he spoke, as if willing him to remember. “You’re Dr John Hamish Watson, a brilliant army doctor recently invalided home with an honorable discharge after being shot in the left shoulder. Now, your my flatmate and a GP at a local clinic, we solve cases together and you blog about them. I shoot at the walls and put body parts around the kitchen to bother when I’m bored because I just want your attention. I follow you when you leave the flat because I’m afraid you won’t come back, but you always do. I don’t know why but you stick around and I’m so incredibly happy every time you do because you’re my best friend, John.” Sherlock’s voice cuts off at the last statement as he chokes on emotion. Sherlock rests his head on John’s knees hiding his face as his body shakes with quiet sobs.

John silently places his hand upon Sherlock’s head gently petting his curls. He doesn’t know what else to do. Sherlock to John seemed to be a strange man, he’s stoic and complaining about the hospital one second and then crying on his knees the next. John shouldn’t blame him much, as it was John’s fault for not remembering that made Sherlock cry.

John felt his heart practically jump into his throat at the thought of what Sherlock must be going through. Especially since it seemed they were more than just friends, lovers or perhaps even married. Though neither of them had a ring.

John felt so comfortable with his touch and it seemed Sherlock was too. He wished he could remember if he could even just remember this man he’d be fine to forget the world. The world didn’t care like Sherlock did.

“I’m sorry, I want to remember. I really do, I just.. can’t.” John said as he continued to brush through the detectives curls. Sherlock looked up at him tears still in his eyes as he looked at John in determination.

“You will, I promise you. You will.” John believed him.

~~~

A few hours later they were in a cab on their way to the flat. Home, Sherlock kept saying though John could only think of it as ‘the flat’. John sat uncomfortably stiff and slightly drugged up with what the hospital gave him. He could already feel fatigue falling over him.

In the cab ride to the flat Sherlock told John the story of how they met and had John read his blog as well. It was rather fascinating the cabbie, the two pills, Johns apparent limp that suddenly went away. It was fascinating, yes, but it was like reading someone else’s life not his own. The John in the story had killed for Sherlock only a day or so after meeting him.

The whole thing seemed fictional and John couldn’t put himself into the place of the man that had shot the cabbie. He couldn’t possibly ever do it, could he?

In a fictional world perhaps.

~~~

“221B Baker Street.” Sherlock announces as they walk into the flat. John looks around curiously at supposedly their flat. It’s messy, ridiculously dirty and outdated yet John feels completely at home. From the skull on the mantle to whatever those stains are on the floor John feels entirely familiar with everything. It’s how he feels around Sherlock but projected on everything around him.

Sherlock comes to flop down on the black chair and John follows sinking down onto the opposite one. When he looks up from examining the odd material of the chair he finds Sherlock with his eyes closed hands in a prayer position at his lips. For a second John thought he heard himself say ‘You and your bloody mind palace.’ Like a whisper it fluttered through his mind fleetingly before disappearing.

John shook his head slightly to clear the thought from his mind. He rubbed his eyes tiredly as he stared at Sherlock, yawning quietly. He looked peaceful, tranquil with a perfect facade of calm. John’s eyes slowly drifted lower falling to the floor as they slowly closed, his mind slowing as well.

“John.” He heard Sherlock’s baritone voice say softly yet commanding to be heard. John lifted his head to look into his entrancing eyes of blue and green. “Go to bed.”

John nodded faintly before pulling himself up out of the chair wobbling slightly and out of the corner of his eye John thinks he sees Sherlock startle, as if he was going to rush to hold him up. John rubs his hands tiredly over his hurting eyes and turns to look behind him. He doesn't know where to go.

“Where..?” John asks turning back to see Sherlock’s eyes closed again, once again stoic.

“Straight down the hall, there are clothes in the wardrobe.” Sherlock recites without opening his eyes. John nods to himself and ventures down the hallway feeling along the walls of the rough and peeling paint. The door on his left is slightly opened and out of curiosity John peeks his head in. It's a simple bathroom with just enough space for everything with hardly any room for anything else. He opens the door at the end to find a relatively large bedroom it was clean and the bed was made corners folded in like they were at the hospital. There were pictures of the periodic table and some kind of Chinese alphabet on the walls and what looked to be antique trinkets on the nightstand.

John looked through the wardrobe and found sleeping clothes like Sherlock said but he also found Sherlock's clothes. Vowing to think on it later John closed the doors and changed quickly before flopping on the bed. He lifted the covers and almost as soon as his head hit the pillow he was asleep.

~~~

Sherlock watched John’s eyes slowly drift close with his own partly closed ones. He told John to sleep and stared at the visible bandage on his forearm stretches against his skin, John was still unaware of the marks that were underneath. The marks of a needle plunged into his body as he struggled, Sherlock is almost happy he doesn’t remember it. Remember Him.

John wobbled and teetered like a toddler trying to walk for the first time Sherlock startled and made to stand thinking he was falling down. But John caught himself on the arm of his chair and Sherlock settled back down, hoping John didn't see. John asked where and Sherlock pointed him to their bedroom, struggling to keep his voice steady.

He watched as John scanned the area with unfamiliar eyes not know he was tearing Sherlock up inside. Sherlock watched as John walked the halls he had walked down so many times with cautious and wary steps. He watched as he entered their room, fully expecting him to leave the door open a crack so when Sherlock came to bed he wouldn't disturb him, he watched as the door was shut. Like a gunshot it rung in his ears.

Sherlock sat there in silence feeling empty without John’s familiar presence puttering about around him. He feels truly alone.

In the midst of the silence Sherlock hears his phone ringing he gets up to pull it from his coat. It’s Lestrade, of course it’s Lestrade. The only people that call Sherlock are John, Mycroft and Lestrade. Sherlock hasn’t done anything worth Mycroft’s attention and Johns…incapacitated.

“Sherlock Holmes.” He answers walking over to the window to stare at the suddenly bleak city.

“It’s Greg, listen-”

“Who?” Sherlock snips half heartedly only hearing a sigh on the other end as he leans against the window. John always hated it when he did that.

“You know who I am. Sherlock, I know it's soon and everything but I need you down at the station. We have a few suspects.” Sherlock rolls his eyes.

“It’s none of them, you couldn’t have possibly caught him.”

“Not him, his henchman; Sebastian Moran.” Sherlock froze with silent fury, he had done this to John, perhaps under Moriarty’s order but it was still him. But John needed rest and he couldn’t leave him here.

“Tomorrow morning.”

“What, why? You did just hear what I said, right?” Lestrade asked incredulously.

“John’s sleeping.” Sherlock said as if it were obvious.

“You can leave him there.” Lestrade suggested.

“No, I can’t.” Sherlock said resolutely, leaving no room for argument. Lestrade sighed on the other side of the phone once again and most likely rubbed his hand through his hair.

“Fine, tomorrow.” Lestrade said exasperatedly.

“Call Mycroft to hold them there.” With that Sherlock hung up and dropped his phone on the table before falling onto the sofa.

The bastard would pay.


End file.
